


Braids

by wellsmonroe (authorisasauthordoes)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, I can't spell braids to save my life so this one was a wild ride, anyway I'm in pain, unsurprisingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorisasauthordoes/pseuds/wellsmonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just one braid?” Harper asks somewhat indignantly when Monroe says she’s finished, feeling the texture of the plait between her fingers. “You’ve got your hair all done up amazingly every day, and this is what you give me?”</p><p>“The tri-braid is transitional,” Monroe says wisely. “It takes time to prepare for. Baby steps.”</p><p>Harper narrows her eyes, shaking her head in disappointment, but she’s smiling. She continues to run the pads of her fingers over the new small braid in her hair, before tying her bandana back up around her head. “Fine. I guess it’s good for a starter. But you do realize now you’re in this for the long haul, right? You owe me a tri-braid, no matter how many days it takes to get there.”</p><p>That’s when Monroe feels it. The promise of a friendship that will actually survive. Lifespan on the ground seems notoriously short this week. But this, this feels like hope.</p><p>Monroe nods. “Long haul it is.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braids

It’s one braid when Monroe and Harper become friends.

They’d been acquaintances for about a week, ever since the drop ship hit the ground. Perhaps a better word was allies, because even some days within their own camp felt like war. Alliances formed fast, and watching Grounders kill delinquents and delinquents kill Grounders and one of their own turn on the other made forming bonds a tricky game. After all, they were _all_ criminals.

But Monroe and Harper just clicked. Monroe found amusement in Harper’s bubbly antics and fierce determination; Harper found confidence in Monroe’s quiet resilience and sense of stability. They never said it, but it was a common thought for both of them in the midst of the adjustment to the ground—gratefulness. They were thankful for each other.

They don’t officially feel like friends however until one morning about a week in, when Harper asks Monroe to braid her hair.

Harper had always been very complimentary towards Monroe about her hair. “A signature look,” she called it, the three-braid style Monroe always wore to keep her hair out of her face and off her shoulders.

To Monroe, it was more habit than hairstyle, a braiding technique her mother had taught her as an alternative to cutting her hair short. A compromise between the two of them, and since her mother had been floated it meant something even more.

Monroe isn’t sure she’s ready to share that with someone else quite yet. But then, Harper isn’t just “someone else.”

She finally agrees. Harper sits back against a rock while Monroe perches on top, braiding one strand of her long blonde hair while Harper goes on and on about Roma’s latest antics or counting off the names of all 100 delinquents. They don’t think about the fact that it takes more than one hand to count on their fingers who’s already dead. It’s just something to do to pass the time.

“Just one braid?” Harper asks somewhat indignantly when Monroe says she’s finished, feeling the texture of the plait between her fingers. “You’ve got your hair all done up amazingly every day, and this is what you give me?”

“The tri-braid is transitional,” Monroe says wisely. “It takes time to prepare for. Baby steps.”

Harper narrows her eyes, shaking her head in disappointment, but she’s smiling. She continues to run the pads of her fingers over the new small braid in her hair, before tying her bandana back up around her head. “Fine. I guess it’s good for a starter. But you do realize now you’re in this for the long haul, right? You owe me a tri-braid, no matter how many days it takes to get there.”

That’s when Monroe feels it. The promise of a friendship that will actually survive. Lifespan on the ground seems notoriously short this week. But this, this feels like hope.

Monroe nods. “Long haul it is.”

\--

It’s two braids when Monroe realizes she’s in trouble.

Well, more like two and a half. In the midst of running from the Grounders and fleeing the fire that exploded when the drop ship closed, one of the ties came undone unsurprisingly. Hair flying in a half-free, half-tangled mess, blood on her face and blood on her hands, Monroe runs as fast and far as she can into the woods. Away from the fire. Away from the Grounders. Away from everything.

Part of her is still alert for Grounders, this deep in the forest, but they’re all mounting the attack on the drop ship anyway. Where she should be, backing up her friends. Clarke, who bears so much of the burden alone. Bellamy, who trusted her with the gun in her hands and trusted her to be brave. Harper, who she didn’t even see before the drop ship door closed on the gunners.

Coward, coward, coward.

She finally stops at the base of a tree by a creek, or less gracefully, slips and collapses against the bark. Crawling forward and dropping her gun off her shoulder, she reaches into the water and splashes it against her face, scrambling to get the blood and grime off her skin.

How many people must have died in that explosion. How many people are dead because she couldn’t keep her cool. She’s a coward, as all Monroes are and will ever be. Just like her father.

She knows she’s pathetic. She knows she’s in danger anyway.

But she also knows she’s in trouble by how much of her attention is focused on the fact that she left Harper McIntyre to die.

She’s upset about everyone—about Bellamy and Monty and Raven and Miller, but she cannot get over Harper. Harper, who had stood by her since they stepped off the drop ship onto the ground. Harper, who made her smile more than she ever did on the Ark. Harper, who believed she was brave without ever having to prove it.

All that, and she left it in the drop ship to burn.

All that, and she ran without ever telling her how she really felt.

Coward, coward, coward.

\--

It’s three braids when things get serious.

It’s always the tri-braid when times get tough. It’s the style her mother wore to fix air ducts on the Ark, it’s the style she’s worn since her hair was long enough to support it. On the Ark, life was never easy anyway. It’s the style she wore when they floated her father, then her mother, before she retired it. In lock up, she didn’t need it anyway. The hairstyle was for strength, and in the lock up, you didn’t need anything.

Now, it’s the tri-braid almost constantly.

Gone is the prospect of ever sharing it. Monroe needs every ounce of strength she can muster to get through this, and to keep it she has to shell up a little. She trusts Clarke with decisions, and Bellamy for orders. Bellamy trusts her with her gun, despite what little good she did to prove him right at the drop ship.

But that’s all she can let go. With the Mountain Men, and the Grounders, and the leaders sacrificing Skaikru for a semblance of peace, she can’t afford to give away any more of herself. Especially not after Harper.

That’s what gets her through the nights and powers her through the days. The likelihood that Harper is still alive is slim to none since it’s been ages since Clarke last saw her, but if Monroe doesn’t believe it she’ll give up entirely. Her friendship with Harper is what gave her hope—her feelings for Harper are what give her strength.

It’s what gets her up in the morning to braid her hair and get down to business. It’s what keeps her calm and collected through every war council, where Clarke and the Grounder princess discuss strategy and unity as if it actually exists. It’s the dirt under her fingernails after months on the ground and the gunpowder on her clothes and the blisters on the pads of her fingers.

When Bellamy agrees to Clarke’s infiltration plan and hands off lead of the gunner team to Monroe, it’s the thought of Harper trapped and being used for blood that drives her fear away enough to step up and accept Bellamy’s trust.

She’s at every radio call to listen to communication with Bellamy, she’s standing beside Miller’s dad at every council meeting, she’s on the front lines every time the gunners march out. She’s steps behind Octavia into every battlefield and right at the base of Mount Weather when they finally charge into the fray with the Grounders on their side. She’s the first one to step up to drill a hole in that stupid mountain.

It’s the tri-braid when the Commander pulls back and leaves them for dead. It’s the tri-braid and her gun that give her the gusto to step into Mount Weather without a second thought when Clarke decides they should. It’s the tri-braid that gives her the resilience to look away at the dead bodies Octavia has left soaked with blood in her wake.

It’s the tri-braid that gets Harper’s attention the moment they get her out of the lab. The first thing she spots. The first thing she heads towards.

Strength and hope and resilience and braids all fade from the mind the moment Harper embraces Monroe in a bone-crushing hug. The kind of hug that knocks the wind out of her, but she would rather suffocate than ever let go, ever again.

\--

It’s two braids when Harper tells Monroe she loves her.

Training with Lincoln and Bellamy had been tough that day, and every day since Clarke’s disappearance clocked in at over a month. Monroe can see in Bellamy what she felt in herself all throughout the last month. But he’s like her, and he doesn’t want any sympathy. He doesn’t want any kind words. He wants action. Plans. Forward movement.

He is desperate enough for it that he starts turning to Pike from Farm Station for orders.

Monroe is from Farm Station, and she’s known Pike her entire life. She isn’t the biggest fan. He’s resourceful, and he’s empathetic, and he sure as hell cares about his people. But he’s reckless, and dangerous, in a way that she doesn’t like. In a way that she doesn’t like because she knows with the right wording her could make her reckless and dangerous too.

So big decisions have to be made when Bellamy suggest to Harper and Monroe that they take their training for the next level and join him in the Arkadia guard.

Both of them avoid the question, focusing more on spending time with each other than looking at the political climate brewing all around them. After training and cleaning up they hang out in the bay window of a broken down part of the Ark, talking quietly and laughing as sunlight filters in through the shattered glass and the afternoon slowly fades into dusk.

Monroe braids Harper’s hair, placing the second braid on her other shoulder and patting her back. “All done.”

Harper sits up excitedly, touching her new style before frowning. “Wait a minute. This is only two.”

“What?”

“Monroe, seriously?” She gives her an exasperated look. “You’re _still_ not going to give me the tri-braid? What do I have to do, sell my worldly possessions?”

Monroe laughs, completely forgetting about her promise. The long haul. It feels like ages ago that they had that conversation, that they met, although in reality it was only months. “You don’t have any worldly possessions.”

Harper sticks her tongue out mockingly, before shifting around to sit facing her girlfriend. She props her feet up on the wall next to Monroe’s shoulder, crossing her arms. “Do you think we should follow Bell and join the league of jackets?”

“They are nice jackets.”

“No one’s arguing that. But Bellamy is right, we spend all this time training, and if we don’t join up they’re never going to let us do anything with it.” Harper smirks. “That’s a lot of me kicking your ass for nothing.”

Monroe rolls her eyes, kicking Harper lightly. “Obviously not for nothing, if you’re so smug.”

“True.” She smiles. “Really. What do you think?”

After a long pause, Monroe shrugs. “I don’t know. Right now, things are pretty good. I mean, Clarke is gone, but we haven’t really had to tangle with the Grounders. They’re talking about going back to Mount Weather to scout it out as a place for some of us to relocate. Don’t you feel like getting up and arms might be pushing our luck?”

“Maybe. You’re the one who’s been a gunner basically since the day we landed on the ground. Took me a while to catch up.”

Monroe nods. She knows how active she was when they first got here, how desperately she wanted to prove she was brave enough to fight for her people whenever they needed her. But she also remembers how hard she fought when Harper was trapped in Mount Weather. How truly exhausting putting up such a constant fight can be, more emotionally than physically. She doesn’t ever want to feel that strain again, and she doesn’t really want to see Harper face it either.

But she trusts Bellamy. She would follow Bellamy into any battle, without question. If she’s serious about not being the person her father was, then loyalty is right up there with bravery—both qualities her father lacked.

“Monroe. Say something.” Harper nudges her to get her attention, reaching forward and taking her hand. The affectionate gestures are still new to Monroe, but not completely unwelcome. “Look, wherever you wanna go, I’m right there with you. We can follow Bellamy into battle again, or we can sit this one out and just hang out here. Keep on training. Get together with Brian and Miller to break that damn piano in the outpost. Whatever.”

Monroe’s smile is grateful. “I guess we should probably join up, now that I’m thinking about it,” she says softly, “I don’t want to copy Miller and Brian and end up raising chickens.”

Harper’s laugh is truly like medicine, and Monroe is never tired of hearing it. Harper tilts her head back against the wall and grins at her, shaking her head slightly. “I love you.”

Tentatively, Monroe adjusts their joined hands and places her thumb over Harper’s knuckles, gently running it over the back of her hand. Maybe joining the guard is a good idea, maybe it isn’t. But she and Harper will stand by it together, as they have since they crashed into the ground all those months ago. And that gives Monroe the confidence to give it a shot.

\--

It’s one braid when Monroe has to say good-bye.

“There. I think it’s done,” Harper says proudly, settling back and letting Monroe sit forward to examine herself in the reflection of the glass in front of them.

Monroe reaches up to run her fingers along the small, singular braid she has running down the side of her head—the first one Harper has ever done herself. She twirls it between her fingers, smiling in spite of herself and nodding in approval. “Looks pretty good to me.”

Harper sits up again to brush her fingers through the rest of Monroe’s hair, getting out any stray tangles. “I can’t believe you don’t wear your hair down more often. I feel like this look is so foreign to me but I’ve known you since we crash-landed on this hell planet.” They lock eyes through the reflection in the glass and Harper grins. “You’re so pretty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Monroe says off-handedly, turning around to face her. “Sure. But good job.”

Harper smiles proudly, before examining her quietly. “You worried about the mission with Bell today?”

Monroe shrugs. When she doesn’t explain further, Harper gently nudges her knee. Looking up, Monroe locks eyes with Harper, who is giving her a pleading look.

“I don’t know. It’s just all a little sketchy to me. Octavia’s been missing in action all day, which is never a good sign. And Bellamy is going in on this with Pike’s orders, and I’m going with him because I’m not going to let him go alone, but… Kane is right. We don’t belong in this territory. I’m just hoping I can get Bellamy to change his mind before we get too close.”

“You will. Bellamy respects you, maybe you and Miller will finally wear him down.”

“Maybe. Just wish we hadn’t lost Monty to Pike too.”

Harper nods. It almost feels like being back on the ground that first week—everyone is back to alliances rather than friends. Monroe doesn’t see how they can be united against the Ice Nation and against whatever the hell Jaha has gotten himself into when they can’t even be united within their own people.

“Hey,” Harper says, taking Monroe’s hands and squeezing them encouragingly. “It will work out.”

There’s a brief knock at the door as Bellamy pokes his head in, nodding to Harper. “Monroe, we’re heading out in ten.” He examines her, noticing something different, before smiling lightly. “Nice hair?”

Monroe can’t help but blush. The tri-braid is a defense mechanism, a security blanket more than anything else. It took ages for her to feel comfortable enough around Harper to let it down. She and Bellamy are certainly not quite there yet. “Thanks,” she mutters.

When Bellamy disappears back into the hall, Monroe gets to her feet with a sigh. She grabs her gun from her bed and slings it over her back, the same gun Bellamy gave her all those months ago when he invited her to join the gunners. She followed him into battle then, and she’ll do the same now. She just wished it was the same Bellamy she had trusted back then that she was following now.

She immediately begins plaiting her hair back into its three-braid style—the signal of action. But she leaves Harper’s first little plait intact too.

She accepts a hug from Harper as they head into the hallway. “Oh, and remember,” Harper says cheerfully, giving her a quick peck. “You still owe me the tri-braid. One of these days, I want to look as badass as you when I head off into battle.”

The long haul. Monroe grins. “How about when I get back?”

Harper’s eyes widen considerably. “Wait, seriously?”

“Sure. I think you’ve certainly put in your amount of baby steps by now.”

There’s a gleam in Harper’s eyes that immediately resolves all of Monroe’s reservations about this mission. It would all work out. It had to. If her girlfriend’s eyes could still have that mischievous, enthusiastic twinkle in them, then nothing could really be that bad. That fierceness and determination had never faded, even after all they’d been through.

Even after all this time, she was still so grateful for Harper McIntyre.


End file.
